


sunstroke

by luckee



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Begging, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Refractory Period, No Underage Sex, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen, Situational Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:37:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24650137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckee/pseuds/luckee
Summary: Anakin stumbles across something rather unfortunate in one of the black markets of Coruscant.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 22
Kudos: 335





	sunstroke

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck it, sex pollen! Because Anakin’s always getting himself into trouble. It’s dubcon because, you know, sex pollen, but I promise it stays pretty light and sweet. Set around Attack of the Clones, so Anakin’s 19.

Among the various jars of crushed leaves and gels he spotted a tiny glass jar on the top shelf, the bright amber hue of its contents catching his eye. He pulled it down and realized he was looking at some kind of strange fuzzy dust. He shook it a bit, intrigued.

“Looking for something to help set the mood?”

Anakin’s eyes snapped up to find the market stall’s owner watching him with a sharp-toothed grin. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You know, set the mood. Spice up the bedroom, as they say.”

“I—I’m sorry, I don’t—” Anakin stuttered.

“It’s the most expensive thing I have, so you better have money on you.”

“I have money.” He peered back down at the small jar. “Uh, what is it?”

“Pollen from the sota flower, very rare. Burn a little bit of it with incense, sprinkle it on your food—however you wanna inhale it, it’ll get you in the mood like nothing else. Will make your girl go absolutely wild.”

“You mean, like…” Anakin trailed off, feeling a blush warm his cheeks.

“You’ll be going at it all night long. Guaranteed.” The stall owner winked lecherously.

Anakin tried to quash the whisperings in his mind of an idea about how he might be able to use something like this. That is, _if_ the stall owner was telling the truth. Just a dash of this peppered in Obi-Wan’s tea, and maybe—just maybe—his master would look at him with a fraction of the want that Anakin felt, the fluttery feeling he got in his stomach every time his master smiled at him or told him he did a good job or _looked at him_ for kark’s sake.

“Go ahead, open it and see it for yourself. Just don’t touch.”

He unscrewed the lid and was a bit disappointed by what he saw. It kind of just looked like sand.

“It’s pure, straight from the flower. Some people cut it with other stuff but I don’t, that’s why I got the most potent stuff in the Core.”

Curious to see if the pollen would smell like flowers, Anakin leaned forward to take a sniff. 

And promptly sneezed.

“Hey!”

A puff of orange rose up around him, making his eyes water and throat seize up as he breathed it in. He dropped the jar onto the shelf and backed away from the cloud, waving at the dust as he coughed around the fire burning in his lungs. He was ready to make a mad dash away from the stall but the owner grabbed his arm in a steel grip.

“Oh no you don’t! You’re paying for that!”

“Sith’s hells, fine! Here!” He hurried to get the credits out of his pocket and shoved them into the stall owner’s hands. 

“You think this is gonna cut it? Half the jar’s gone, womprat, you owe me another hundred credits.”

“That’s all I have!”

“What’s all this?”

Anakin turned toward the newcomer’s voice and felt a flash of dread at seeing his master approaching the stall. 

“This kid’s trying to get out of paying for merchandise.”

“I told you I don’t have any more money!”

Obi-Wan unclasped his credit pouch. “How much does he owe you?”

“Hm. One-fifty.”

Anakin opened his mouth to call bantha shit but thought better of it. Now was not the time to draw any more attention to himself. He coughed into his sleeve instead, still feeling the stupid pollen tickling the back of his throat. 

As he had feared, Obi-Wan had questions.

“Do I at least get to see what I bought?” Obi-Wan asked with an airy lilt to his voice as they made their way through the crowded streets.

“You didn’t buy anything. I just spilled a little when I was looking at something. He was being ridiculous by making me pay for it.”

Anakin shrank from his master’s unimpressed frown.

“Are you done with your shopping?” he asked to change the subject.

Obi-Wan seemed like he was going to let it slide for now, evaluating the bags in his hands. “Yes, I’d say it was a rather successful trip. I even picked up a couple new books on that m—”

Anakin let out a loud exaggerated yawn and earned a gentle cuff on the back of the head for it. 

“I know, your master’s so very boring. That’s why I have you to add excitement to my life. And to empty my pockets, apparently.”

As they walked, the sun seemed to grow increasingly oppressive, the heat prickling his skin like an unwelcome reminder of the desert. 

“Master, why is it so hot?” He could feel sweat starting to roll down his forehead, beading on his upper lip. He suddenly couldn’t wait to get inside somewhere cool. 

“I would say the weather’s rather mild today, Anakin. But we’ll be home soon.”

A few more minutes of walking and Anakin couldn’t bear it anymore. He shucked off his outer robe, all but ready to tear his tabards and tunic off along with it. “It’s so hot!” 

Obi-Wan turned to assess him. “Your cheeks do look rather pink. Do you need water?”

“Yes.” Anakin jerked his head, suddenly feeling very thirsty. “Yes I think—Water would be good.”

* * *

The smell of greasy food affronted his senses, the heat from the grills only amplifying the fevered fog wrapped around his mind, but the promise of water drove him forward, following behind his master as they entered the diner.

“Kenobi!” came a guttural voice.

“Hello, old friend!” Anakin watched Obi-Wan readily embrace the Besalisk and felt a pang of jealousy. His master was not generous with his touches and Anakin had to stage elaborate setups just to get the briefest hand on his shoulder or arm steadying his waist. What did Dex have that he didn’t? Sure, Dex could cook, but Dex had never gotten up early to brew Obi-Wan’s morning tea for him, now had he?

Anakin had only done it once, but it was the principle of the thing.

“Ah, young Skywalker as well. Sit, sit!” Dex herded them both into a booth. Anakin quickly came to the conclusion that the table spanning between himself and Obi-Wan was far too great of a distance. “What can I do for you Jedi?”

“My Padawan’s feeling a bit faint from the sun and we were passing through the area, so I figured we could sit and rest for a bit. Could we get him water, please?”

Dex beckoned the droid waitress over. “Water for the boy. You want anything, Kenobi? Jawa juice?” 

“That’d be great, thank you,” Obi-Wan said with a pleasant smile. 

Anakin scowled.

Dex and Obi-Wan continued to chat while Anakin fidgeted in the booth, feeling the heat creep down his spine, burning like an unscratchable itch. When the waitress placed his glass in front of him he gulped it down as quickly as he could. To his disappointment, it did little to quell the heat that had him sweating far more than his body had any right to be sweating.

“Obi-Wan,” he whined.

“Would you like to order something to eat?” Obi-Wan turned to ask the question and his smile immediately fell. “Oh, dear, you look even more flushed. Are you feeling worse?” And then—oh kark—Obi-Wan reached across the table and pressed the back of his hand to Anakin’s sweaty forehead. His hand felt exquisitely cool and it made his skin tingle. He couldn’t stop the happy sigh that passed his lips. 

Obi-Wan studied him with concern then withdrew his hand far too soon. Anakin wanted it back.

“I’m sorry, Dex, it’s always a pleasure to see you, but I need to get Anakin to the healers. I’m concerned he might be getting sick.”

Dex waved them off as they stood to leave. “Don’t worry about it. Hey, feel better kid!”

Anakin attempted a polite nod in thanks but immediately had his attention drawn to the light press of Obi-Wan’s hand against his back, guiding him out the door. 

“We’ll get you feeling better,” Obi-Wan promised, close to his ear.

* * *

“I don’t feel good,” Anakin moaned. It was hard to think of anything other than how hot he felt, his pulse beating in his ears.

“I know,” Obi-Wan said, waving someone over as they entered the halls of healing. “The healers will know what to do.”

“You’re running a high fever,” the healer remarked upon taking his temperature. “Have you been out in the sun long?”

“We were out at the markets for a few hours, but he seemed fine for most of the day,” Obi-Wan said from where he was standing next to Anakin’s seat on the patient table. If Anakin leaned over just a _little_ he would brush up against Obi-Wan’s side. The prospect was rather tempting, but… Wait, why wasn’t he doing that? He leaned into his master, delighting in their closeness.

“Look here,” the healer said and shined a bright light in his eyes.

“Agh! What was that for?” he complained.

“Your pupils are dilated,” the healer said. “Even in the light. Tell me, have you been exposed to any exotic substances today?”

“...no.”

“You’re certain?”

Anakin was not in the mood for this. His insides felt like they were slowly cooking and he could barely think beyond his need to cool off, to, to—

“Anakin,” came a concerned voice, and with it a hand on his shoulder. Anakin melted under the touch, body going slack against his master’s side. Why was he touching him so much? Did he know how much Anakin needed it? “What happened at that shop where I found you?”

He figured he could tell part of the truth without revealing that for the barest, briefest moment he’d been considering dosing Obi-Wan with whatever he had ended up inhaling. “I might’ve... messed with something weird… some kind of pollen.” He pressed his forehead to his master’s chest. Even through the layers of clothes he smelled so _good._ “It’s so hot.”

The healer hummed knowingly, as if he had confirmed something. “I believe Skywalker has been exposed to a mind-altering drug.”

“Is it harmful?” Obi-Wan gave Anakin’s shoulder a squeeze. It felt amazing, grounding. His master was so close and he was touching him. It was stirring something deep in his belly, he… oh. He felt his cock start to stiffen in his pants.

“He should be fine, although the fever puts him at mild risk for dehydration. Depending on how much of the drug is in his system, he’s going to be in a heightened state in arousal for at least several hours.”

“Arousal?” Obi-Wan repeated.

“Skywalker can chime in with whatever he knows,” was said with a pointed look, “but it seems he’s inhaled sota pollen, something of an aphrodisiac from the planet Abascor. Often sold on the black market, although it’s rarely pure enough to produce its full effects.”

“A—what? An aphrodisiac?”

For Force’s sake, Anakin needed to get out of there. 

He leapt from the table, ignored his master’s call as he fled the halls of healing. It was too much, he couldn’t be near him right now, not when he had gotten himself into a situation this embarrassing, and definitely not when Obi-Wan kept touching him. 

* * *

“Anakin, please.”

“I said go away.”

“I’m not upset with you, if you’re wondering.” There was a sigh. “I just want to help make this easier for you.”

Help? Hah. Anakin highly doubted Obi-Wan was truly willing to _help_ him right now. He felt like he was submerged in a pot of boiling water and the only thing clear in his mind was the need for immediate sexual relief, preferably at the hands of his _perfect Jedi_ mentor standing on the other side of his bedroom door.

Which is exactly why he needed him to go away.

He felt a nudging in his mind through their training bond and reinforced his mental shields. 

“Anakin, I can sense you’re burning up. I just want to bring you some water.” After a moment of silence on Anakin’s part, he said, “May I come in?”

Anakin contemplated his chances if he jumped out the window.

“Fine.”

Anakin didn’t look up from his spot on the bed as Obi-Wan entered. He merely curled up tighter into a ball in an attempt to conceal his erection, of which he was _painfully_ aware.

“This is for your head,” Obi-Wan said, presenting a water-soaked washcloth. Anakin begrudgingly let him lay it across his forehead. The cloth was refreshingly damp and cool against his heated skin. 

Obi-Wan sat down on the edge of the bed and studied him in a way that had Anakin feeling even warmer. He tried to ignore his master’s persistent gaze, instead willing his arousal down, trying to soak up every bit of coolness he could from the cloth on his forehead. It was helping a little, but then Obi-Wan shifted on the bed and the brush of his hip against Anakin’s knees instantly negated any relief he was starting to feel. 

“Healer Che assured me you won’t have any lasting effects from this. She thinks you’ll be feeling better in a few hours.”

Anakin grunted.

“That doesn’t help much now, does it.”

“Don’t they have something I can take to make it go away?”

“I’m afraid you have to wait it out, dear heart,” Obi-Wan said with an apologetic smile. He brought the glass over from where he’d set in on the nightstand. “Drink some water, please. It should help.”

Anakin sat up to do so, the washcloth falling to the bed. Obi-Wan set it off to the side while he drank from the glass. Even briskly cold, the water barely registered in Anakin’s brain, not with his master’s concerned, pretty blue eyes on him.

“Hopefully this will have you feeling better.”

Every rational thought was secondary to the white-hot want coursing through his veins. Only the inevitable humiliation was stopping him from jumping his master right then and there, and he wasn’t sure how much longer even that would keep his limbs at bay. He whimpered as another eager twitch of his cock had it rubbing up against the fabric of his pants.

“You’re going to be just fine, I promise.”

“Don’t you get it?” Anakin fell forward and buried his face in Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “This is so embarrassing, Master. I don’t want you to see me like this _._ ” 

“Well, I for one would much rather this be something embarrassing instead of life-threatening. All things considered, this is a minor ordeal. It does not even come close to last month’s incident on Jortum.”

Anakin managed a shaky smile against Obi-Wan’s tunic. “Pretty sure that one was your fault.”

“Was it?” Obi-Wan said innocently. “I don’t recall.” 

Anakin huffed against his collarbone. “Right.”

“I’m only here to help, Anakin, not to make you feel worse. You’re my Padawan and I’m not going to leave you to suffer this alone, no matter how unfortunate the effects or how it happened.”

“I was being stupid,” Anakin bemoaned. “It was so dumb.”

“I told you to explore,” Obi-Wan countered. “Can hardly blame a teenager for getting into trouble when let off the leash at a black market.”

“I’m not a teenager,” he grumbled.

“In a few weeks, sure,” Obi-Wan conceded, and started rubbing soothing circles into his back. Anakin felt his cock throb with interest, growing impossibly harder, bringing with it a fresh wave of embarrassment at knowing his master could probably sense just how aroused he was getting from such a simple action. He felt Obi-Wan’s hand stutter for a moment on his back and he stiffened.

“It’s okay,” Obi-Wan said.

“It hurts,” Anakin admitted quietly.

“I’ll leave. To give you some privacy.”

Now that wasn’t what he wanted at all. On an impulse Anakin dove forward to kiss him, or tried to anyway. Their teeth clacked together, but before Anakin could fix the angle Obi-Wan was pulling away. He tried to chase after him but a solid hand on his shoulder kept him at bay. He whined in frustration. 

“I thought you wanted to help me!”

“Anakin, I can’t help you like that. I’m sorry. Let me know if you need... anything else.” And his master was out the door too fast for Anakin to say anything in rebuttal.

Anakin flopped back down onto his damp sheets. Kark, he was so hot. Even with Obi-Wan gone his mind was a feverish haze. He tore at his pants, pushing them past his hips. As soon as he was free he wrapped a hand around his cock and squeezed, barely choking back a loud moan at how good it felt to finally take himself in hand.

It didn’t take long to start up a harsh rhythm, his hand rather well-practiced as of late. He squeezed and thumbed at the head every time his fist came up, wringing out extra little zings of pleasure. His thoughts were focused on his master, as they always were when he indulged himself like this. Didn’t matter if Obi-Wan was off on a mission or just down the hall in his own room, when the desire struck him it usually couldn’t wait. And recently it struck him often; after sparring matches, on mornings when Obi-Wan walked around their apartment with just a towel around his waist… This time, however, the need was much more gnawing and he was finding it hard to keep quiet.

With every stroke his pleasure kept building and building like an inferno in the pit of his stomach. Whether it was because of the day’s abundance of touches and closeness or the strange pollen, it was easier than ever to pretend his master was here with him, guiding him, encouraging him. He brought his other hand down to give his balls a rough squeeze, and that was enough to send him over the edge. At the very last second he grabbed the neglected washcloth from the nightstand and emptied into it. 

For a few sublime minutes the fever seemed to dissipate. He relaxed into the sweaty tangle of his sheets, chest heaving. Maybe it was over.

But as another minute ticked by he felt a new wave of arousal crash into him, blood rushing back to his spent cock.

He wanted to cry. Getting relief seemed to have only exacerbated the pollen’s effects, sending him careening back into a state of frenzied need. He grabbed himself again, mind readily conjuring up more images of his master, there with him, soothing him, and he pumped himself through to another orgasm, only for a moment’s reprieve to lapse into another sweltering heat.

_“Sith’s kriffing balls!”_

It was a few minutes later that he heard a light tap on his door.

“Anakin, do you want me to call for the healers?”

“No!” His frantic fist didn’t miss a beat.

“It feels like you’re in pain.”

“I am,” Anakin choked out, hot tears spilling onto his cheeks as he squeezed his cock almost painfully tight.

“I think we need to take you back to the healers.” 

_“Obi-Wan!”_ Anakin cried out, to his utter horror, as he came again into the spoiled washcloth. 

Anakin had to scramble to shove himself back into his pants before Obi-Wan rushed in, and the mere sight of him had Anakin’s heart thumping a staccato beat in his throat. He felt ready to drown in his shame, absolutely certain that his room smelled of his perverted release. _Releases._

“You can’t be in here.”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about, so do us both a favor and bury that feeling. This is a drug affecting you. And it’s obviously getting worse.”

“Obviously.” Anakin glared. 

“Trying to take care of it on your own clearly isn’t helping—”

Anakin wanted to scream. 

“Because I can’t seem to fix it myself! I want _you,_ Master. All I can think about is you kissing me, and, and, doing other stuff. It’s making me crazy. I want, I can’t—” he broke himself off with a frustrated cry, eyes screwing shut against new tears.

“I’m the problem then.” Anakin could _hear_ the dismay in Obi-Wan’s voice. “For some reason I’m making it worse.”

Anakin held his tongue against saying anything.

“I’ll ask someone else to monitor you and find somewhere else to stay for the night.”

His incessant arousal had eased a bit in response to the sour guilt he felt seeping through their training bond, and it gave him the lucidity to say, “Lay down with me?”

Obi-Wan stared at him incredulously.

“I think, maybe, having you near me would make it hurt less, but I don’t know. I feel better when you’re close. I don’t know what to do,” and he felt his lip tremble. Force, this was awful.

It took a while for Obi-Wan to respond at all, and Anakin was honestly expecting him to walk out the door and call a healer in. But eventually he crossed the room and gingerly eased down onto the bed, balanced near the edge to maintain space between them. “How do you want me?”

“Just hold me. Like—like this.” He settled in against Obi-Wan’s side and boldly pulled Obi-Wan’s arm across his waist, pillowing his head on his shoulder. It wasn’t the first time his master had ever comforted him like this, calming him down after nightmares, but it was the first time in a long while. 

Sweet Force, his master smelled so good. Sure, he smelled a bit reminiscent of the air from the markets, dry and stale, but it was mixed with the comforting and familiar earthy scent of the tea that was practically infused in his robes. He couldn’t help but nuzzle into the fabric and sigh.

It was possible that having the focus of his desire so close was not the best idea. As they lied there that aching feeling in his belly was slowly building back up from its low simmer. His cock was starting to swell with renewed interest and demand his attention again. He squirmed in place, seeking out friction.

“Stop. Just breathe.” Obi-Wan gentled him, the hand around his waist lightly squeezing his side. Anakin tilted his head up to see Obi-Wan’s eyes were closed, like he was resting. Or perhaps meditating. Anakin tried to settle his rapidly beating heart, slow down his own breathing. He focused on the steady heartbeat beneath his ear, his master’s heart, _here in his bed..._

“Be calm, dearest.” 

Anakin’s body reacted to that soft timbre with an involuntary jerk of his hips, bucking against the body next to him. Oh. He moved again, suddenly feeling starved for more of that delicious pressure. He let out a moan as he grabbed for purchase and ground into his master’s thigh.

“Anakin, stop!”

“Please touch me, Master. Please.” He was rutting with fervor now, climbing on top of Obi-Wan to get more leverage for grinding down onto his thigh.

“I can’t do that, Anakin.” Hands settled on his hips in an attempt to slow them. He looked up at Obi-Wan’s face and faltered at seeing the pink flush to his cheeks, the alarm in his eyes. “You’re not in control right now.” 

He knew his arms were shaking and he looked a pathetic wreck but Anakin was desperate for relief. “Master, if you don’t touch me I’m going to _die._ ”

“Now you’re being dramatic. Get up, it’s not too late to take you to the healers.”

Anakin groaned, beyond irritated. “They won’t help. I just need you to touch me. I’m asking you to, Master, _please._ It hurts and I can’t fix it.”

Every second of silence was a knife twisting in deeper. But then: “Take yourself out of your pants.”

And _oh_ if that didn’t make his blood sing.

The promise of relief had him nearly vibrating out of his skin as he shoved his pants down, now fully seated on his master. He had no time to feel self-conscious or nervous before Obi-Wan had a hand on him. He gasped at the new feeling, watched as Obi-Wan pulled experimentally. Anakin almost came right then.

“Poor thing, you’re so sensitive. Did that hurt?”

Anakin shook his head wildly. “No, that felt, that felt really good.”

Another stroke, with just the right amount of pressure, then another, thumbing sweetly at his overstimulated head, and Anakin nearly sobbed. “Oh Force, please don’t stop!”

“I’ve got you,” Obi-Wan promised softly, and Anakin keened.

Obi-Wan was gentle but relentless, pumping him from base to tip at a steady pace, seemingly treating this with the same single-minded determination that he did negotiation missions. But Anakin certainly wasn’t complaining, not when every stroke had him mewling like a loth cat. Why did it feel so much better like this? Jerking himself off had never felt this good, could never compare to Obi-Wan’s hand on him, those elegant fingers stroking him expertly toward completion. Another hand was holding his hip steady, and to Anakin it felt possessive, keeping him in place.

He wanted to savor this, but he also wanted to come, and he could feel himself barreling toward that point at lightspeed. He was already dribbling, making a mess of his master’s hand. He cried out when he came, his orgasm a violent assault on his overwrought nerves.

He collapsed against Obi-Wan beneath him, eyes half-lidded by the pleasurable aftershocks of his high, the euphoric relief making his brain feel like absolute mush.

“Do you feel better?” Obi-Wan asked, a tentative hand coming up to cradle the back of his neck. Presumably the one not covered in Anakin’s spend.

“So much better.” 

“And the fever?”

“Gone, I think, but I can’t tell yet if it’ll come back again.”

The hand at his neck found his Padawan braid and gave a gentle, reassuring tug.

“If it does, we’ll take care of it together. For as long as you want me here.”


End file.
